AFRICA HUNTER QUEST©   

    Chapter 31 - THE PILGRIM’S SAFARI: DAYS 1 AND 2   

    Donny’s flight was scheduled for departure early Sunday evening, a direct flight from Atlanta to Johannesburg. He drove to Atlanta and parked in a large, covered parking facility. The facility had a shuttle service that met him at his truck after he parked and then transported him directly to the international terminal.    

    Donny made his way to the check-in counter, standing in line for about 15 minutes before an agent became available. He was a little apprehensive, as this was the first time he had traveled with a firearm. The experience he had with CBP had been disconcerting, and he didn’t know what kind of vibe to expect.    

    Inspection of his rifle at check-in was a non-event. The agent was apparently a seasoned pro who had undoubtedly checked in hundreds of hunters. She was primarily interested in whether the case could be locked and if there was ammunition transported with the rifle in the case. Donny had gone online and read the latest airline protocols and had strictly followed them. No issues.   

    Donny then had to carry his locked, cased rifle to TSA, accompanied by an airline employee. The case was scanned, then ‘sniffed’ with a small hand-held sensing device. The agent noticeably stiffened in response to the sniffer’s data dump, and what had started out as casual and matter of fact had obviously degenerated into some DEFCON category.   

    Donny was instructed to open his case with no explanation given. He was then ordered to stand clear while the agent inspected the case’s contents. Donny couldn’t help an “oh $#!+” as he watched the agent pawing through his stuff, looking for some yet-to-be-defined fatal flaw. The agent spent about two minutes looking for God knows what. It seemed like two hours. Finally, the agent instructed Donny to lock his case back up, with no further comment. Donny did as he was told and then watched the agent place his case on a conveyor.    

    “Is everything okay?” asked Donny.   

    “Yes”, said the agent, again with no commentary.   

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    Donny figured he had pretty much been dismissed, so he then made his way to the TSA passenger security. As he stood in line, he realized he was sweating. The only thing he could imagine that had caused such scrutiny was the hand-held device that could have indicated an explosive of some sort. He stored his case in his shop in the general vicinity of his powder. The containers were sealed, and he never directly touched any powder. Go figure. He briefly contemplated what could have been, and decided that sweating in the line that he was in was preferable to sweating in any other line he could potentially have been standing in. Hell, he might have had to go to the Group W bench.   

    He passed through passenger security with no issues. He made his way to the food court, grabbed a burger, and then sat down to chill. Lord knew what kind of abomination that passed for high-end cuisine would be served on the plane.   

    Boarding was not quite the tedious process he was expecting. His travel agent had urged him to pay extra for the extended leg room section in coach. Folks in that section were allowed to board prior to the remaining coach passengers. Even so, he felt like a chicken being penned for shipment to the processing plant.   

    The flight was a 16-hour enduro. His agent had scored him an aisle seat, the only high note in the entire flight. He had taken no ear plugs to subdue the background chatter and the squalling brat directly behind him. He had brought no sleeping pills, an oversight he vowed would never be repeated. The seasoned travelers around him had brought small, inflatable neck supports to supplant the airline pillows that were basically worthless. He had brought no sweater nor long- sleeved pullover in his backpack to negate the arctic blast whistling through the cabin. Because of the temperature and humidity in Atlanta, he had questioned the logic of wearing jeans instead of shorts. His pants and the airline blanket he wrapped his upper body in made the flight bearable, but only in the loosest definition. He was damned uncomfortable.   

    The plane touched down about half an hour ahead of schedule. He made his way rapidly through customs, as there were at least half a dozen immigration officers on duty to process the foreign passengers on his flight. Once through customs, he basically followed the line of his fellow passengers to baggage claim. To his surprise, the carousel was already operating, and he saw his suitcase had already been dispensed. It was easy to identify as his travel agent had furnished a gaudy, fluorescent-colored plastic identification tag that he had attached to the suitcase handle.   

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    Although his suitcase was visible, his gun case was not. For that matter, no gun cases were on the carousel, a fact that did not seem to bother several obvious hunters that had already collected their suitcases and were headed down the hall. Even so, he was apprehensive because he didn’t know how, where, or if he would see his rifle again. Donny shrugged his shoulders and just ‘went with the flow’.   

    The hallway ended at the entrance to a large atrium. There were at least 100 people gathered behind a typical airport-access-alley barricade, waiting on the arriving passengers.    

    Donny stopped, a tad stunned at the sight. To his surprise, he heard his name being called. He looked at the crowd, expecting to see at least a hand-held sign as some manner of identification, but saw none that he recognized. There was certainly no sign with his name on it.   

    He heard his name called again. A professionally dressed native African was motioning him to come over and again called him by name. “Duh, meet and greet,” he thought.   

    The young man introduced himself and indeed indicated he worked for the travel agency. He grinned and said the fluorescent luggage tag was his marker, and that Donny was the only passenger on his list for this evening’s flight from the U.S. Without being asked, he indicated that Donny’s rifle had been transported to the South Africa police facility in the airport. He could claim it after the police inspected it and presented him with a validated permit. Donny breathed a sigh of relief and thanked the man for reading his mind.   

    The travel agency rep had noted that he had seen no sign with Donny’s name on it, indicating that the outfitter was apparently not in the crowd. He told Donny not to worry, as the plane was uncharacteristically early. He asked for the name of Donny’s outfitter, then nodded his head in recognition. The rep pulled out his phone, scrolled to the outfitter’s name, then called him. “Obviously not his first rodeo,” thought Donny. Impressive.   

    The outfitter told the travel agency rep that Donny’s PH was in the terminal and would meet them at the entrance to the SAP’s facility. The agency rep then escorted Donny the 100 yards or so to the SAP facility entrance. The outfitter’s PH was already there, waiting.   

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    The man introduced himself, then explained he was a free-lance PH that had been retained by the outfitter. He appeared to be in his late-30s, and looked like he could play middle linebacker for any NFL team. He wore hiking boots with ankle high gators and mid-thigh length hiking shorts, items that Donny would subsequently discover were part of the de-facto PH uniform. He had a moderately heavy accent similar to the one he had repeatedly heard during the interviews he had conducted in Harrisburg. “Afrikaner,” thought Donny. His PH apologized for not meeting him in the atrium area, indicating his tardiness had been caused by the unexpected early arrival of the flight.    

    Donny thanked the travel agency rep and tipped him handsomely, the prospect of what could have been firmly in his mind as he did. He truly could have been a stranger in a strange land.   

    His PH led him into the SAP facility where Donny saw his rifle case on the floor behind the counter, along with at least a half dozen others. As Donny waited his turn for processing, the PH began asking him questions about the hunt, including the animals he was after and the hunting method he would like to use. Donny admitted that the only things he really ‘knew’ were from watching videos and that stalking the animals was preferred. He would shoot from a ground blind if need be, but he absolutely did not want to shoot from the truck.    

    His PH asked him what his rifle’s chambering was. Donny noted the man specifically used the word ‘chambering’ rather than caliber. When Donny told him a 270 Winchester, he saw a faint furrowing of the man’s brow. His PH’s immediate next question was what bullet was he using. When Donny told him the manufacturer’s name and 180 grains, his PH’s eyes and facial expression showed faint but obvious surprise.    

    PH:    Hand loads?   

    D:    Yes. Muzzle velocity of 2620 fps.    

    PH:    What’s that in meters?   

    D:    About 800 meters per second, in round numbers.   

    PH:    Hmmmm.   

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    Donny then realized both he and his rifle were now being measured. Unseen boxes were being checked……or not. His PH was apparently trying to figure out the hand he had been dealt.   

    The measuring intensity ramped up when Donny unlocked his case for the police inspection. Donny watched his PH’s facial expression as he eyed his rifle, wind meter, bipods, range finder, and both his sock and brick bag filled with plastic beads. Donny thought the man spent an inordinate amount of time fixating on his come-ups taped to his stock. There had been no smile from his PH, only the residual look of concern. Donny thought he had detected an initial faint rolling of the man’s eyes that could only be attributed to the expression “You got to be $#!+in’ me”. Donny concluded there needed to be some manner of damage control, but he had no clue as to what needed to be said to restore the credibility that had apparently just taken a serious hit.    

    SAP issued the permit without drama, and they made their way toward the adjacent parking garage. His PH indicated it would be about a four-hour drive to the lodge. They would stop in about two hours or so for a quick supper, but he asked Donny if he needed anything to tide him over. It was then that Donny realized he was incredibly thirsty. He hadn’t drunk much water on the plane, primarily just coffee. He figured he was now dehydrated to the point of being toast. His PH bought him a liter of bottled water, and they made their way to the truck.   

    It was cold. The temperature was probably only in the mid-50s, but Donny had been used to temperatures in the mid-90s, at least a 40-degree difference. His dehydrated state made it seem way colder than it really was. He popped open his suitcase and pulled out both a long-sleeved pullover and his hooded sweatshirt and put them both on.   

    When they cleared the parking structure and got on the expressway, his PH pretty much ignored him and made a series of calls on his cell. All conversations were in Afrikaans. Donny’s concerns about his credibility increased. He imagined his PH was putting his colleagues on high alert about the Great White Blunder he now had the misfortune to accompany and accommodate. When his PH at last put his phone away, Donny put his best effort into damage control.   

    D:    You may be wondering about my ammo with those 180-grainers.   

    Silence.   

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    “Damn,” thought Donny. “It’s like talking to GG. Worse, it’s in the dark and I can’t see his face.”   

    D:    Five shots less than 1.5 centimeters at 100-yards.    

    PH:    Off sticks?   

    D:    No, off a bench using a bipod and rear benchrest bag.   

    Silence.   

    PH:    Have you ever shot off sticks?   

    D:    Yes, but not hunting. I dry fired daily for over a month and live fired at least twice a week. I had paper plates set at 150, 200, and 250 yards. Those paper plates were about 25 centimeters in diameter.    

    Again silence.   

    D:    I used the anatomy pictures in Robertson’s book to visualize where the heart would be for all the animals I want to shoot. I visualized all shot angles except rear quartering. There would have to be unanticipated favorable conditions for me to even consider taking a rear quartering shot. I practiced with the intent of aiming for and actually hitting the heart.   

    PH:    How did you do?   

    D:    It took a while, but I finally was able to put five shots within about 12 centimeters at 150 yds, and all shots on the paper plate at 250 yds.    

    The big bipod you saw in my case is for shots greater than 250 yds, taken from the seated position.   

    PH:    Did you do a live-fire practice while seated with the big bipod at shots greater than 250 yds?   

    D:    Yes. I had a paper plate target about 15 centimeters in diameter placed at both 300 and 350 yards. I could get five out of five shots on the 350-yard plate.   

    Silence.   

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    D:    You may have seen the small bipod in my case. I intend to use it only for sight-in. I do not consider myself to be any kind of tactical marksman or sniper wannabe.   

    Donny’s PH turned his face toward him. Donny detected a faint smile. “Bingo,” he thought. “Finally.”   

    PH:    Your barrel length and suppressor will get in your way in the thick stuff.   

    D:    I figured. But before I do any hackin’ on my rifle, I need to see how bad is bad. Its current configuration suits me fine for how I hunt in the States.   

    PH:    Did you make your own sticks?   

    D:    No. I bought them, but modified them from a tripod to a tall bipod by tying two of the legs together. That is the stick configuration I used for my practicing.   

    Again, Donny’s PH looked at him and smiled.   

    PH:    I prefer that method. I have my own that I made that way.   

    D:    Full disclosure. A man at the range who had hunted in Africa recommended that. I configured my sticks that way.   

    PH:    I figured. Very few PHs I know use two-legged sticks. Too steep a learning curve for clients who have never shot off regular sticks before, let alone two-legged ones.   

    D:    Regardless of stick configuration, I knew I had to get good with my shot placement because my 270 Winchester is considered a lower-bound chambering for Africa. I know my target really needs to be the heart. I want to see the animals get skinned so I can see exactly where the bullet hit relative to the heart. I also want to see how the 180-grainer performed in producing the wound cavity.   

    PH:    The bullets from that manufacturer lose too much weight to suit me.    

    “Another bingo,” thought Donny. “How do I respond without sounding like GG and risk shutting down my PH with techno-spew?”   

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    D:    Agreed. That’s one of the reasons I chose the 180-grainer. I wanted to slow my bullet down to reduce weight loss and increase penetration.    

    Silence. But Donny could see his PH nod his head several times.   

    D:    The other reason is that there is more punch with the 180-grainer compared to the 150-grainer. The man who told me about the sticks is positively ate up with old-school, big-and-slow.   

    PH:    Big-and-slow works really well with the right bullet.   

    D:    Both my dad and father-in-law use bullets from the same manufacturer as the bullet I will use. My dad has a 300 Winchester and uses its 200-grainer on elk. My father-in-law has a 35 Whelen and uses that manufacturer’s 275-grainer on moose and bear.   

    PH:    How many elk has your dad shot using this bullet?   

    D:    At least a dozen.   

    PH:    At what ranges?   

    D:    Less than 100 yards out to at least 250.   

    Silence.   

    PH:    There will be shot opportunities out to over 300 meters. Do you intend to use the big bipod and take those shots?   

    D:    Yes. The man who told me about the two-legged sticks used that technique to take springbok out to 364 yards with his 375 H&H.   

    PH:    375 H&H?!!    

    D:    That’s what he said. He obviously has a thing for that chambering. He said he hand-installed poly-tips on a 350-grain match bullet.   

    PH:    Did he say why he did that?   

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    D:    He wanted to get them to positively expand. He didn’t want the match bullet to pencil through the animal.   

    Donny again saw his PH nod his head several times.   

    PH:    So, you intend to attach the big bipod to your rifle?   

    D:    Yes.   

    PH:    Does it interfere with shooting off sticks?   

    D:    No.   

    PH:    Did you practice getting set up in the seated position?   

    D:    Yes. I timed myself. I can comfortably do it in less than 20 seconds if I can see the animal.   

    Silence.   

    PH:    I’ve never seen that done before. You will need to show me.   

    D:    I figured. I also figured there will be shots in the thick stuff less than 150 yards. That’s why I also practiced shots from the kneeling position.    

    His PH again nodded his head.    

    PH:    What is your zero?   

    D:    200 yards. I can guesstimate holdover out to 250 yards where I have another scope zero. I also have hard zeroes at 300 and 350 yards. Those zeroes and windage adjustments are on that card you saw taped to my stock. That’s why I brought my range finder. I figure I won’t be able to judge distance worth beans, and I want you to use it and tell me how far the animal is before I take the shot.   

    His PH once again turned his head and smiled.    

    PH:    Sounds like a plan.    

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    Donny felt a flood of relief. He had apparently passed muster, but maybe only for the time being. He needed to leave nothing for his PH’s imagination.   

    D:    I have never done anything like this before. I’ve thought about this a lot and have tried the best way I know how to anticipate and accommodate potential surprises. I do not want to give you the impression that it’s my way or no way. You are the expert. What you say goes. Period. I’m here to learn, not instruct, or God help me, guide the guide.    

    PH:    You and I will get along just fine.   

    The effect of the adrenaline dump he had gotten in the Johannesburg airport had helped him start a clean slate with his PH, but it had run its course. Donny was on fumes. He hadn’t had any real sleep in well over 24 hours. The water he had been sipping on really hadn’t helped to an appreciable degree. Even the truck’s heater dialed up to a temperature that his PH’s body language indicated was ‘hot’ hadn’t warmed him up. When they stopped for a burger, the temperature in the restaurant was way colder than that in the truck. He was miserable.   

    The food made him drowsy. They were now on a two-lane highway with no traffic. It was pitch black. There were no lights indicative of civilization, nothing to focus on to help keep him awake. He tried small talk but couldn’t carry the conversations he started. He dozed fitfully. The PH seemed to understand and let him float in his semi-conscious state.   

    They got to the lodge around 1:00 AM, local time. There was no welcoming committee, which was fine with Donny. He just wanted to crash and get warm. The PH took his suitcase to his room while Donny took his rifle. The room was as advertised on the web site, but Donny could care less. His immediate concern was that the elevated heating and air conditioning unit had not been turned on. The room was stone cold; he judged its temperature to be somewhere in the high 40s. The unit’s remote failed to render the secret handshake to coax the unit into operation. His PH wandered off in search of fresh batteries.    

    Donny popped open his suitcase and began storing his clothes in the closet and bureau drawers. His PH returned with fresh batteries. He had never heard a more satisfying sound than the faint ‘click’ the unit made as it powdered up. He saw the numeral 16 on the display and about flipped out until he realized it indicated a temperature in Celsius. He bumped it up to 20 and was immediately rewarded with

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an increased fan speed and a puff of obviously warmed air. He had no idea what the temperature was in Fahrenheit, but he took it and ran.

        His PH said that there was no rush for in the morning. There would be a hot breakfast for him around 10:00. After breakfast, they would check his zero, then begin the hunt. His PH then bid him good night, and Donny crawled under the covers. The only item of clothing he removed was his shoes.   

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